


time is but a paper moon

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Borgias, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Canon Compliant, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Gen, Gondor, Illegitimacy, One Shot Collection, Political Alliances, Sibling Bonding, Telepathy, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 17:52:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12017982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: Short Tolkien fics prompted on Tumblr.





	1. Aredhel, Regency AU

crocordile/jubah prompted "aredhel, regency?" for the three-sentence meme.

 

“I’m afraid we must marry now, before your father comes after me with a pistol,” he said, mock-sympathetic. “Otherwise your reputation will be quite ruined.”

She’d never hated anyone before, too quick in forgiveness as well as anger; but in that moment, she knew she would hate him for the rest of her life.


	2. Denethor and Ivriniel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the-lion-machine prompted "Denethor/Ivriniel AU where Aragorn is actually Ecthelion's son" for the three-sentence meme.

“I hope you do not mind me saying so, my lord,” Ivriniel told him one day, “but Thorongil can be rather insufferable at times.”

A laugh surprised out of his throat, Denethor said, “Why should I mind?”

“You know why,” said Ivriniel.


	3. King Mardil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heget/squirrelwrangler prompted "✫ Mardil!" for the luck of the die meme. Amazingly without cheating, I rolled "Royalty AU."

The first year, nobody talked of kingship. Even when Eärnur resided in Minas Tirith, he had left all matters to statecraft and administration to Mardil’s capable hands, and listened to him in virtually everything else. All had known that the Steward’s favour was path to the King’s. And often, of course, he had not been in Minas Tirith, but away on some battle or other, leaving Mardil to rule in his stead. For a time, they could pretend that this was no different.

It might have been different if he were of obscure birth, or had no royal blood. But the Húrinionath came of the line of Tindómiel, and though his grandmother the princess was dead by then, her shadow already lay heavy on him. She did not give him the strongest claim—rather the contrary, considering Pelendur’s ruling—but, well, what shame was there in the rule of a king’s great-grandson? None, the Dúnedain agreed.

But the months gave way to years, and the years to decades, and when Mardil was so old that he had grown a beard, the whispers of  _as good as a king_ had grown to shouts.

Better, said the old fathers, who remembered Eärnur.

When Eradan first helped Mardil onto the throne, and the Master of the Keys put Eärnur’s crown on his head, Mardil could only hope that he made the right choice.


	4. Faramir/Éowyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> manicpixiedreamwyn (sort of) prompted Faramir/Éowyn telepathy porn, a quality genre that the world needs more of.
> 
> IIRC this was baby's first porn, written as a mere child of twenty-six back in 2013

Sometimes she cannot help but say,  _look at me_ , and pulls him away from her throat, her hands tangled in his black hair, her voice a hoarse chanting whisper,  _look at me, look at me_.

Heat spirals into her belly as he lifts his eyes to hers; they are more black than grey, his gaze intensely focused on her and yet far away. She can feel the uncanny strangeness in him like lightning under her hands, even as his pupils flare still wider, his careful fingers suddenly digging into her skin.

Shuddering, she smiles.


	5. Lúthien/Thuringwethil, Borgias AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> heckofabecca prompted "Lúthien/Thuringwethil Borgias AU" for ... I have no idea, actually.

Donna Luciana had her looks and charm from her mother, an imperial princess—and her pride, too. But she had learned other things in the land of her birth, Ferrara: many of them after Lucrezia Borgia came to be Don Alfonso’s wife and won the hearts of the Este while her brother steadily wrecked the fortunes of their cousins.

Luciana had no brothers, and her husband—the man who would be her husband—had nobody, nothing but an old promise, and Luciana herself. Well. The Borgias had succeeded well enough, between themselves; she would just have to be all of them, rolled into one, and better.

So she kissed Ursula before she poisoned her. Then she snatched up her cloak and disappeared into the night.


	6. Lúthien, nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> themmune prompted "ooooh could you please do Luthien? (:" for the nightmare meme.

Lúthien, loving and beloved, is happy. She has been happy for most of her life and until her cousins came from the West, believed that most other people were generally happy as well. Morgoth is a distant rumour, held at bay by her mother’s power. 

She studies everything Melian can teach out of genuine interest more than fear, learns the singing of spells because she loves to sing and is fascinated to see more power in it than in Daeron’s harp. She does not dream that there will be a time when she must draw on every drop of power her training and her mother’s blood grants her.

But she dreams of other things. She dreams of imprisonment, sometimes, of fleeing through the night. Mostly, though, she dreams of misery: a grief so deep that every breath she draws is a burden to her, that after all her long years one more seems an impossible anguish.


	7. Beren, nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kareenvorbarra prompted "Hello friend, can I request Beren for the dream meme?"

Beren does not dream of a wife; he has none. He does not dream of a brother or sister; he has none. He does not dream of his father, dead, or his mother, escaped. He does not dream of any others among his kin, slain or fled or enslaved.

Nor does he dream in tales, however improbable, one moment following from the next. Only fragments: here, a memory of Dorthonion in peace, there, a flash of his father’s ring. Often, very often, he dreams of water—not the defiled waters here, which he does not touch except in the uttermost desperation, but springs fresh and clear. Alert or asleep, he allows himself no more than that.

In a way, it is a blessing. He sees enough horrors in his waking hours without inflicting more on himself, in these few moments of rest.


	8. Borgias AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the-lion-machine prompted, "Dol Amroth/Borgias crossover."
> 
> This is ... a very different Ivriniel from my usual conception of her. >_>

Imrahil, lost in thought, instantly glanced up when he heard Finduilas scream—a small muffled scream, but unmistakable to his ears nonetheless. His sisters stood at the balcony opposite, where not an hour earlier Finduilas had stood with Ecthelion, Denethor, and Rían, waving at him; now, Ivriniel was laughing wildly, Boromir hoisted up in her arms, then—his heart chilled—she held him over the edge, impossibly high above the floor.

Images paraded across his mind, visions of Boromir dead, Boromir’s tiny body twisted and broken from the fall, his blood splattered over the floor, and there was no possible way to get there in time. If he moved, he might only provoke her to the final step—but he couldn’t, he had to—

“Ivriniel, Ivriniel— _no!_ —give me my baby, Ivriniel—Boromir!—” Finduilas snatched him out of Ivriniel’s arms just in time, running back into the nursery. 

Imrahil breathed again, but it wasn’t good enough. They were all in danger, still, Adrahil wouldn’t  _listen_ , she could have killed Boromir, she might attack him again—

His jaw set. He knew what he had to do.


	9. The Steward and the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fragment of the Southampton AU.

The King did not owe his throne to the Steward. His victories in war, the alliances he had carefully forged, the healing of the wounded—most prominently, Lord Faramir himself—these, as much as the long-rejected claim of the heirs of Isildur, had made him High King. Still, Faramir’s graceful surrender of power had done a great deal to smooth Aragorn’s path. Had he been less accommodating, or had the Lord Denethor survived, Aragorn might still have his throne, but he would have sat upon it far more uneasily. 


End file.
